


Garden of Stone

by palominopup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/pseuds/palominopup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men meet in a cemetery and begin a friendship that spans a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Garden of Stone

** **

 

**December**

  
The Impala’s rumbling engine stilled. Dean got out of the car and looked around. Vapor from his breaths seemed to add to the stillness of the place. His boots crunched through the snow, leaving prints in the picturesque blanket of white. When he got to his destination, he shoved his hands in the pocket of his heavy coat.

  
“Hey, Mom. Sam couldn’t make it today. He’s on call at the hospital. He said he'd stop by to see you soon though. I’m hanging in there. The divorce was a bitch, ya know. She said she deserved more.” Dean shrugged. “Hell, maybe she did. I wanted to love her.” He looked around the silent cemetery. Christmas Eve morning wasn’t prime visiting hours. Most people were out doing last minute shopping. “Beth is doing great. You should see her. She’ll be walking in no time. I get to see her every other weekend.” He squatted down, keeping a hand on his mother’s headstone for balance. “I wish you could have met her.”

  
When he turned to leave a few minutes later, he saw a man sitting on one of the stone benches provided for visitors. His head was down, he seemed to be staring at his hands, clasped between his knees. There was a new grave next to the bench. Flowers, frozen from the winter temperatures, were piled haphazardly by the headstone. As if sensing Dean’s presence, the man looked up. Tracks of tears ran down his handsome face. The trenchcoat he was wearing didn’t look heavy enough for the weather. Dean nodded respectfully and the man inclined his head before bowing it again.

  
**January**

  
For the last few months, the second Saturday morning of the month has become the appointed time for Dean to visit his mom. With Sam’s busy schedule at the hospital, he stopped by when he could. He was just an infant with their mother died and he’s not as drawn to her final resting place as Dean. Sometimes, Dean can’t remember what she looked like and he has to go to the mantle and stare at her picture.

  
He unbuckled Beth, officially Mary Elizabeth, from her carseat. She was dressed in a pink snowsuit and clung to him tightly. Eyes bright, she took in her surroundings. “This is where your grandmother is, Sweetheart.” He trudged through the snow, deeper this month. The white was blinding in the mid-morning sun. When he got close, he saw the same man seated at the same place. This time, he stared at Dean and Beth. Not in a creepy way, but with curiosity. Again, Dean nodded.

  
“Look who I brought, Mom. Lisa said she took her first step last week. She let me see the video last night when I picked her up.” Dean kissed Beth’s forehead. “Isn’t she beautiful? I think she looks like me.”

  
Movement out of the corner of his eye made Dean turn. The other man, still wearing the same trenchcoat, was walking towards a gold Continental Dean hadn’t noticed earlier. Without knowing why, Dean waited for the man to drive off and made his way over to the grave. _Stephen Novak, Husband, 1971 - 2015_

  
“Huh,” Dean mumbled. Just the word husband. Not loving husband. Not faithful husband. Just husband.

  
**February**

  
Dean blew on his hands. They’d had a cold snap and he’d forgotten his gloves at the jobsite. He shut the Impala’s door and walked up the path instead of his usual route. They’d shoveled the path recently because Thursday's snowfall was cleared.

  
“Morning, Mom.” He held up his hand, showing off the bandage. “I bet you’re wondering what happened, huh? I wasn’t as careful as I should have been and bumped my thumb into the bandsaw. Now, don’t worry. I didn’t do any permanent damage. I had to get three stitches though.” He dropped his hand to his side and dusted the snow off the top of his mother’s headstone. He grinned. “Guess what? Beth said ‘dada’ last weekend. I coached her all day Saturday and she finally said it.”

  
The man in the trenchcoat wasn’t seated today. He was standing, hands in his pockets. Today he was wearing a gray scarf. He must have come up after Dean, because the path took Dean right next to Stephen Novak’s grave and Dean wouldn’t have missed him. The biting wind was blowing the man’s dark hair around his face. He had a nice profile. If Dean wanted to be honest, the guy had a nice everything.

  
“Yes, Mom, I think he’s hot.” Dean didn’t think his mother would have had a problem with his bisexuality. Then again, she died when Dean was four. Who knows how she would have felt? He wanted to believe she would love him no matter who he chose to go out with. Dean chuckled softly. He didn’t go out with anyone these days. He dated a lot before marrying Lisa because she was pregnant with his kid. Since he’d moved out and the divorce was final, he hadn’t gone out at all. He’d threw himself into his work. Winchester Construction took up a lot of time. He specialized in the restoration of historic homes. His own home was a work in progress.

  
“I’ll be by next month, Mom. And it’ll be my weekend with Beth, so she’ll be visiting you too. He took the path again and as he neared the man, he heard him talking. His voice was deep and gravelly, sexy.

  
“When will my penance be over, Steve? When will I stop feeling guilty for what you did to our marriage?” Dean’s boots had been silent on the path, but he must have veered off and the crunch of snow alerted the man to Dean’s presence.

  
“Sorry, I…uhm…was just visiting my mom.”

  
“No apology needed.” This close, Dean saw the bright blue of the man’s eyes. They matched the tie he wore. He dismissed Dean by turning back to the grave of his husband. Husband, huh?

  
**March**

  
Dean hadn’t thought about the man from the cemetery much in the last month. He’d finished out the house downtown and was now on his way to meet a new client. The interview was done online through as series of emails. The house was north of Lawrence near the Kansas River. It was built in 1919 and Dean was itching to get his hands on it. The guy was going to give him carte blanche on the renovations.

  
He checked his GPS once more and pulled into the rutted driveway. A gold Continental was in the driveway. Where had he seen that car before? Dean got out and grabbed his clipboard and measuring tape. His digital camera hung around his neck.  
He gingerly stepped up on the porch and bent to inspect the wood. No sign of termites. Someone cleared their throat and he looked up. “Hey, it’s you.”

  
**April**

  
“Hello, Dean.” Dean looked up from the table saw and grinned. Castiel Novak was rarely on the worksite, but he talked to Dean almost daily. The renovations for the CEO of Novak Air Freight were coming along fine. Dean gave him an estimate of two months and he was ahead of schedule. Novak was really a nice guy. He listened to Dean’s ideas for the house and trusted Dean’s instincts. They’d built up a great professional relationship.

  
“Hi, Mister Novak, you come to inspect the place?”

  
“Not inspect. I don’t need to look over your shoulder, Dean.” He looked up at the staircase that Dean had completed the week before. “This is beautiful.”

  
“Thanks. I liked the color you picked. Honestly, I didn’t think I would.” The soft green wasn’t bad. Dean had wanted to do them in light cream to stay with the period of the house, but Novak had insisted that he loved the green.

  
“I had inspiration in choosing the color.” He ran his hand over the polished walnut banister.

  
“I didn’t see you at the cemetery Saturday,” Dean said as he removed his work gloves. At Novak’s look, Dean could have kicked himself. They didn’t talk about personal things and had never mentioned their cemetery visits.

  
**May**

  
The beer tasted good and Dean rolled the cool bottle against his sweaty forehead. He’d worked on the upstairs plumbing all day and without air conditioning, he was hot and dirty. He glanced over at the man sitting on the steps beside him. Cas had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and loosened his tie. He looked good.

  
“You are moving well ahead of schedule, Dean. I’m impressed with what you’ve gotten accomplished.” Their conversation from last month came back to Dean. Turns out Cas didn’t go to the cemetery anymore. His story wasn’t a pretty one. He’d been married to Steve and apparently, the guy couldn’t keep it in his pants. He was jealous of Cas’ time at work…jealous of Cas’ time with his dying mother…just a douche as far as Dean was concerned. He started fucking around on Cas and when Cas filed for divorce, Steve threatened to kill himself. Cas brushed it off and then he came home to find Steve dead from taking an overdose of sleeping pills and chasing them with a half bottle to tequila. Dean heard the guilt in the man’s voice and like any friend, told Cas that it wasn’t his fault.

  
“Thanks, Cas.” Dean clicked the lip of his beer to Cas’ and both men took a sip. Dean’s eyes were drawn to Cas’ Adam’s apple, bobbing up and down as he swallowed. He ran his tongue over his lip, the desire to kiss Cas was strong.

  
As they walked towards Dean’s work truck and Cas’ car, Cas hesitated. “Dean, how is your little girl?”

  
“Beth? She’s fine. I’ll have her this weekend.”

  
“So, you’re divorced?” Funny, how that hadn’t come up, Dean thought.

  
“Yeah, we divorced with Beth was three months old.” Dean got to his truck and leaned against it.

  
“That must have been hard.” Cas stood awkwardly in front of Dean. He was staring at the ground.

  
**June**

  
It felt strange not to be driving to Cas’ house. The renovations were done and he’d cashed the check for his final draw. The place turned out beautifully. His newest project was an old drug store downtown. The owners wanted it to look like a 60’s soda shop. His phone chirped with an incoming message. The screen showed Cas’ name. Smiling, Dean answered, “Hey, Cas.”

  
“Hello, Dean. Are you busy?”

  
“Just on my way to the jobsite. The drug store I told you about.” The two men talked every day, sometimes more than once. They’d met for dinner a couple of times over the last four weeks too. Dean wanted to tell Cas he was bisexual, but it never seemed like the right time. He let Cas assume he was straight for so long now, it would just be fucked up to spring it on the guy. Dean wasn’t dating and he hadn’t even gotten laid since before Christmas. His daydreams and fantasies revolved around Cas. Yet, Cas just treated him like a friend.

  
“I have to fly to London this afternoon and I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

  
“London?” They had plans for the weekend. They were going to drive over to Kansas City to see the Royals play the Blue Jays. Cas got them box seats.

  
“Yes. I’m sorry, Dean. One of our pilots is being charged with…raping a young woman. I need to go straighten things out.”

 

“Rape? Wow. What are you going to do?”

  
“If it’s true, then I will fire him and do everything in my power to see that he is never hired as a pilot again.” Cas’ voice was cold and Dean didn’t envy the pilot.

  
“You need a ride to the airport?” Dean wasn’t sure where that came from. He just knew he wanted to see Cas before he left.”

  
**July**

  
Wearing the autographed hat he got at the baseball game, Dean pulled up in front of Cas’ house. He hadn’t seen Cas since he got back from London. He’d taken Cas to the airport and Cas gave him the tickets to the game. Dean wound up taking Sam. They’d had a great time. Cas’ house looked great. He’d added some landscaping and the driveway had been paved since Dean finished it.

  
Cas was opening the door when Dean got to the porch. He smiled at Dean, eyes crinkling, causing Dean’s breath to catch. “Hello, Dean. Dinner is in the oven. We can relax out back while we wait.”

  
Dean held up the six pack of Cas’ favorite beer. Cas took it and gave Dean a man hug, the kind that friends share. Dean didn’t mean to cling to the other man a few seconds longer than socially acceptable, but he couldn’t stop himself. When the broke apart, Cas looked at him quizzically.

  
Dinner was perfect. Who knew Cas was such a good cook. The lasagna was rich and cheesy, just like Dean liked it. Cas toyed with the stem of his wine glass. Dean pushed his plate away. There was something on Cas’ mind. “So, spill.”

  
“What?” Cas was a million miles away.

  
“You act like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

  
Cas took a deep breath. “How long did you wait after your divorce to start dating again?” Dean wasn’t expecting that. He went with flippant, because he didn’t like where this conversation might lead.

  
“Hey, hair of the dog…ya know? I was back in the saddle in a couple of weeks,” Dean lied. “Why, thinking of hitting the nightclubs?”

  
“No.” Cas brought his wine glass to his lips and drained it. Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Someone has asked me out for dinner and I’m not sure I want to…” Cas gestured with his hand and Dean heard the unspoken words. Suddenly, the dinner wasn’t sitting well.

  
“Just go for it. You deserve to be happy, Cas.”

  
**August**

  
“So, he’s been out three times with this guy. He says they aren’t sleeping together yet,” Dean murmured. The breeze wasn’t helping the hot temperatures. The grass was so green around his mother’s grave. “He’s probably a douche. Get this…he asked Cas to go to a symphony with him. Fuck…Cas doesn’t do classical music. He has more fun with me. We went to some antique story out near Topeka and I found some great doorknobs and reclaimed lumber. Cas almost snatched a piece of Fiestaware out of some old lady’s hand. It was freakin’ hilarious. It looks pretty in his dining room.”

  
The wind picked up and swirled leaves around the cemetery. Dean squinted his eyes against the blowing sand and debris. A piece of brightly colored paper flattened itself around his calf and he reached down to peel it off. It was a flyer for a new gay club. Since there wasn’t a trashcan nearby, Dean tossed it in the passenger seat when he left.

  
**September**

  
Cas wasn’t returning his calls. The fight was stupid. It all started with that damn flyer. He’d forgotten about it and when he picked up Cas to take him to lunch for his birthday, Cas had picked it up. He asked Dean about it and Dean’s brain short circuited. He was just trying to be funny and he told Cas that he’d gone there to pick up guys. Cas wouldn’t look at him…wouldn’t talk to him. It had been two weeks. The bottle had become Dean’s best friend. His crew was ready to mutiny because all he did was bitch and yell at them.

  
Two weeks without a word. Dean stared at the picture on his phone. The one of Cas holding that damn piece of Fiestaware proudly. He looked down the driveway. Cas’ car was there. From where he was parked, Cas wouldn’t be able to see him. He let his head fall to the steering wheel. It was official, he was a stalker.

  
Movement caught his attention and he picked up his head. Coming down the road at a steady run was Cas. He was wearing tight red running shorts and an old t-shirt. He was sweaty and he looked pissed off. Dean thought he was wonderful. He stopped near the front bumper of the Impala, his eyes fixed on Dean. Dean bit his lip. It was now or never.

  
**October**

  
After that first stuttered I love you on the road in front of Cas’ house, Dean couldn’t seem to say it enough. Sam and his crew made fun of him because he always ended his phone conversations with it. His eyes were on the road, but he was aware of the bouquet of flowers on the seat beside him. Sam thought he was moving too fast, but hell, they’d known each other for months. He knew Cas’ favorite color. He’d seen Cas at his worst and at his best. His best was lying naked on his big antique canopy bed, sated after an afternoon of sex.

  
“Beth, promise to be a good girl for Daddy.”

  
“Daddy.” His little girl banged her toy dinosaur against the window. This was the first time Cas was going to meet Beth. What if a child wasn’t what Cas wanted? What if Beth threw one of her temper tantrums and Cas got angry? God, what was he thinking? He wasn’t ready for this.

  
**November**

  
Cas’ trenchcoat flapped in the crisp breeze. Dean held his hand tightly and looked up at the overcast sky. He walked the familiar path and noticed Cas’ slight hesitation when they passed Steve’s grave. Someone was still putting flowers there, probably his family. “You want to stop?”

  
“Can I be alone for a minute?” Cas’ voice was husky with emotion. Dean released his hand and stepped back. He could hear Cas and he thought of moving away to give Cas more privacy, but he just couldn’t.

  
“I loved you. Even when you were at your worst, I still loved you. I’ve come to realize now that I was never in love with you and for that, I’m sorry. I’ve found someone who is my world and…and I’m so sorry you…” Cas stopped talking and Dean turned away. A moment later, he felt Cas’ hand in his again. “I’m ready.”

  
Dean led him to Mary’s grave. “Hey, Mom, I want you to meet someone. This is Cas.” He held up Cas’ left hand, tracing the ring with his thumb. “We’re engaged. I know it’s kind of sudden, but he…he means everything to me.” The cold wind stopped and the sun peeked behind the clouds.

  
Cas knelt down, his hand still in Dean’s. “Mary, I love your son. You would be so proud of the man he is. I promise you, I’ll make him happy.” A daisy from someone’s else’s grave blew over to land at Cas’ feet. He picked it up.

  
“Daisies were mom’s favorite.” Dean didn’t know why he remembered that small fact about his mother, but he looked up at the sky and smiled, silently thanking his mom for her blessing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. This was inspired by a country song named "I Want To Be Loved Like That". I heard it on the way to work and this story came to be. I just imagined Dean and Cas in a lonely graveyard.


End file.
